


Eight Years In The Making

by BlueLeader



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Monster Tom, Monster!Tom, canon divergence from the end part 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10698135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLeader/pseuds/BlueLeader
Summary: The liquid was thick and viscous, a dull maroon bordering on purple that sloshed lazily when he swirled it. It bothered Tord slightly knowing that he still lacked so much knowledge on the serum and that after eight years the closest he was to figuring out what it came from was a theory that bordered on conspiracy, and a failed test run of it years ago. Perhaps this was his chance to change that.Tord decides his robot can wait and directs his attention to his old project. His Frankenstein's monster.





	1. Making Up For Lost Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be using changed last names of the boys as per Paul's request to the fandom (i only discovered eddsworld a month or so back so i didn't know about it until recently ) 
> 
> enjoy x

 

 It took very little for Tord to settle back in. He expected this, of course, he wouldn't have come back without knowing that Edd would do anything to keep him around. Still, as he pulled the switch to his lab, and watched as the room unfurled to its former glory, he was almost thankful for his luck.

It was with slight reminiscence that he wandered back into the room, his fingers lingering on this countertop and that stack of paper. He was relieved to find nothing seemed out-of-place but was still sceptical that the room could have gone eight years vacant. _Especially_ with Tom in such close proximity.

That was another thing he thanked his luck for. He had certainly not expected Tom to break so quickly, or so explosively. With that man out of the picture there was very little Tord had to worry about. He walked up to the main desk, rummaging through the draws to check he hadn't left anything of particular value, and he immediately recognised a cold smooth weight in his fingers.

The vial he pulled free from the mess of papers and tools was fractured at its neck, it was a wonder how the contents were yet to spill. Even so, it was probably ruined by the slow exposure to oxygen and bacteria. The liquid was thick and viscous, a dull maroon bordering on purple that sloshed lazily when he swirled it.

Tord looked up from the glass to the blueprint directly in front of him, clear concise sketches of what could only be dubbed his very own Frankenstein's monster. He had only ever worked on it out of curiosity, having procured the original serum from some nobody "scientist" (he was using the term extremely loosely) on a business venture in Camden Town. It was originally marketed to him as a new form of steroid, and so he bought it out of pure scientific curiosity. but with a little time and ionisation, he found that the compound had so much more potential.

Thus he spent a good few years developing it in his free time, testing the effects on whatever small animals he could trap in the garden. The results were unexpectedly purple, but otherwise, he made little break through past the symptoms listed to him when he bought it. "Gained muscle mass, sides effects of aggression, nausea" but others the seller had forgotten to mention - deterioration of intellect and, in most of his experiments, eventual death.

It bothered Tord slightly knowing that he still lacked so much knowledge on the serum and that after eight years the closest he was to figuring out what it came from was a theory that bordered on conspiracy, and a failed test run of it eight years ago. He had hoped back then that if he used it on its intended recipient species, the result would be closer to revealing what sort of creature or chemical could have these effects, the testosterone in it had to come from something living after all.

A younger, simpler Tord had taken the serum across the hall one night, after a furious internal debate of who he could administer it to. He had wanted it to be some random nobody, someone who wouldn't be noticed or missed if something went wrong, but in that scenario, he would have no way to monitor it, and the experiment would be null. It seemed that there was only one simple solution, so Tord decided on the lesser evil, poisoning the least important and most expendable of his friends.

Back then Tom had also been a less complex person. More easy-going and less likely to drink three bottles of Smirnoff daily. Therefore Tord was lucky enough to find him sleeping when he entered the room. He had approached Tom needle in hand, and it took him reaching the bed to realise the pain would almost certainly wake him up. With a huff Tord glanced around the room, hoping that tom keeps a drink for the nights, or perhaps a late night snack. Finding neither Tord was forced to sneak back out of the room, making his way downstairs with timidity, well aware of the multiple creaky areas. The kitchen was still a right state from the evening's movie night, Matt had decided he was going to bake for it and promptly caused the microwave to explode with cookie dough wrapped in generous amounts of tin foil.

It had been hours and the room still stank of burning. A quick inspection of the fridge had Tord wondering the best way to administer it, he briefly considered Smirnoff, but the reaction and possible dilution of the serum with contact to alcohol were too risky. Instead, he turned to the cupboard, keeping it at room temperature was important to remove variables, so anything in the fridge was a no go. He eventually just pulled out a bottle of apple juice, poured in it the cap, and hoped for the best.

It was reckless, but he could always come up with an excuse or plan if the wrong housemate got the drink, he was Tord after all, he could handle it.

* * *

 

Watching Edd reach for the apple carton that morning he realised that he most certainly couldn't handle it.

"Edd, friend! I have a good idea!" Edd paused suspiciously as Tord put an arm around him. "What about a little, good-natured prank to start the day?" Edd laughed slightly awkwardly as Tord pulled the carton from his hand.

"Sure Tord. What are you going to do?" Edd couldn't help but shake his head at his friends' silly rivalry, but there was no harm in entertaining it.

"The real question is what have I _done_." Tord grinned, by this point, Matt had fumbled into the kitchen and was looking over curiously from preparing his bowl of cereal. Tord lifted the cartoon to Edd's eye level, swishing it slowly. "Think of the only other liquid that looks like apple juice."

Edd grinned. "You didn't."

"Oh, I did."

"Okay, what am I missing here?" Matt questioned over Tord's shoulder.

Edd laughed out of shock more than anything. "Tord's peed in the apple juice. He's going to let Tom drink it."

Matt gasped, about to question if they were really going to go through with it, but was unable to. Tom was coming down the stairs.

"Morning Tom." Edd offered, sliding into his chair.

Tom grunted in response. Dropping into his chair. Clearly, he hadn't slept well the previous night. Tord and Matt slid into the remaining seats simultaneously, both feeling awkward and a little anxious for entirely different reasons. Matt was buzzing with anticipation, as was Edd. Whereas Tord was buzzing with trepidation.

When Tom reached for the apple juice, Matt let out a high-pitched squeak that had him pause in his tracks. Looking over at the ginger with both confusion and exasperation. It took a moment but Tom began to slowly move for the apple juice again, never breaking eye contact with Matt. He slowly lifted the carton to his glass, scrutinising Matt's grin as he did so. He seemed to question himself as he went to pour it but noticed how both Edd and Tord were watching him from the corners of their eyes and decided on a better approach.

With the hint of a smirk, he chugged straight from the carton, not stopping until he had downed it all. Tom was aware that they were trying to prank him somehow, but considering that he didn't notice anything off about the drink, or that he seriously couldn't give two shits either way, he took pleasure in the shock on his housemates' faces. With that he took his leave, strolling into the next room and just picking up on Edd breaking the silence with a burst of laughter.

Tord took to watching Tom for the next few months, but his careful monitoring bared no results. No mood changes, beside him being more of a dick than usual every so often, no gained muscle or weight, no nausea.

So Tord eventually lost interest and abandoned his work. And then finally, he left.

It had seemed like a lost cause at the time, so in a moment of frustration he had shoved all his research in a draw and left it to rot, now though, his curiosity as peaking again. After all, Tom should not have been able to lift that sofa, let alone throw it a good 20 feet. Either that guy had worked out while Tord was gone, or things had developed in his absence. Tom's lack of muscle mass was a good pointer to the second scenario. But with Tord's return Tom had well and truly removed himself from this area of his life, so finding a way to gather information on him was going to be a challenge. It seemed Tord had a few questions for Edd.

* * *

 

Edd straightened up when Tord walked into the living room, jostling Matt from his place on the back of the couch. Tord tried to put on an air of tension. Edd picked up on it immediately.

"Tord, are you okay?"

Matt looked up from the tv screen at Edd's question.

Tord shook his head softly, walking over. "It's nothing for you to worry about Edd. I'm just..." he paused for effect. " I will confess, I'm worried about Tom... I was trying to stay relaxed so you would not worry yourself, but I can't keep it up." He felt like he was putting on a poor role for some low-grade high school production, but pretending to worry about Tom required an acting skill to rival Marlon Brando.

Edd looked surprised before walking over and placing a hand on Tord's shoulder. "Hey it's okay, you don't need to fake anything for me. If I know Tom he'll be back soon enough, buuut we could go looking for him?" Edd had wanted to do so from the beginning, so he was all too pleased that Tord was seeing his side of things now.

"Where would we even start?"

"He could be at a pub, knowing him he probably would try to cool off with a drink and that's the only place he could go for that."

Tord considered that for a moment. "We would have more luck finding him if we split up, why don't you and Matt take your car, and I'll take mine."

"Sounds good. Come on Matt." Edd had to almost pull Matt from his seat, the man desperate to just finish this episode. But soon they were both out the door, waving as they pulled from the kerb.

Tord grinned back, a sly smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. It was with a relaxed chuckle that his smile turned ominous.

"Okay. Let the manhunt begin."

Tord settled comfortably into the driver's seat, adjusted the rear view mirror and with a flourish of his hand, turned the radio to a frequency that wasn't exactly about to start blaring Duran Duran.

"Red leader? This is Der Vries."

"Good. I need you to check security camera's in my area, find me the man with a blue hoodie and black eyes."

The other end went silent for a moment. But then the crackle started up again. "Sure thing boss. Give us a second."

Tord strummed his fingers impatiently on the wheel as he waited for his men to work their magic. It was odd to see the house had been renovated, although two floors did suit him better, having grown used to living in very large quarters.

"Boss?"

"Go ahead."

"We think we have found your man. He wandered into a park on the corner of maple street at 17:24."

That was a whole hour ago. "And he hasn't left yet?"

"No sir."

Tord leant back in his chair, turning the keys in the ignition. "Dismissed men."

"Yes, sir."

Tord could hear slight bickering from the other end of the channel as he cut the feed, no doubt about the nature of what he was up to. Regardless it was irrelevant. He had no time to entertain his soldiers acting like children. He pulled from the kerb with a rumble of the engine, driving off in the exact opposite direction to Edd and Matt.

* * *

 

"Hello, Tom."

Tom barely glanced up at the man approaching, wiping his mouth on his already soaked sleeve. He didn't look well, his hair slick with sweat and hands shaking as he tilted the bottle to his lips. Odd, the shakes and the sweats were symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, so they could not be related to the fact he seemed to be drunk. His brow was set in a grimace as he considered the new company.

"What the fuck do you want." Tom spat between a swig of Smirnoff.

Tord took that as an invitation to step closer. "Your friends are worried you know, I'll confess I am too."

Somehow Tom didn't believe him, maybe the sly grin gave it away.

"Why all the hostilities old friend. Is something wrong?"

Tom threw himself from the bench, his bottle slipping from his grasp and filling the night with the sound of shattering glass. He shook slightly as he glared at Tord.

"Oh, something's very wrong! You're back in our lives without a word of goddamn warning and you've taken my room while you're at it!"

Tord narrowed his eyes, grin holding steady. "As much as I'm enjoying this spectacle, I didn't come here to bring you back to Edd. I have a few questions first Tom."

Tom's eyes narrowed. He slumped back down on the bench with a huff. "Oh yeah? Fucking shoot." he took another swig.

"Have you been having mood swings?"

Tom stopped drinking. And Tord knew he had struck home. He decided to push further.

"Headaches perhaps? Nausea?"

Tom stood up again. "And how the hell would you know about that?"

"You threw a 350-pound sofa through a wall. That was a pretty good clue."

"A clue to what?"

"There was a drug cycling around a decade back now, I looked into it back when it was still popular. From the looks of it, you've got all the symptoms." The lie came easy, it wasn't entirely false after all.

"You think I'm on something? Piss off Tord." He was growing more and more frustrated with the man in red.

"Look look, I'm not assuming anything, I just want to help, figure out what's making you ill so you can stop being distant with your friends. It's hurting Edd."

It was true Tom had taken a step back from his friends recently, but the mood swings were only half of the issue, the real problem was the man in front of him.

"Why don't you get out of here, that would really help."

Tord shook his head. "Classic stupid Tom, I'm the only one who has even an idea of how you are sick, Edd and Matt cannot help, and if you _are_ taking something the hospital is definitely not a good choice."

Tom glared at that, but he couldn't argue against it. "So what _do_ you want?"

Tord knew he had won, "I've got somewhere we can go so I can check you out-"

"I know about your lab." Tord was caught off guard. "I found it a year after you left. You've got some fucked up shit in there."

"I can't say I'm surprised. Then I suppose you won't be shocked if you know that I've been pursuing my inventions during my time in the city. I've got a place better suited to medical stuff if you would come."

Tom seemed conflicted. "What about Edd and Matt?."

Tord smiled "We'll only be a few hours, they won't even notice me gone. And then _we_ can go back home. And you won't have to worry about your relationship with Matt and Edd anymore."

Tom eventually nodded and stood up, swaying slightly. He let Tord lead the way.

The walk out of the park was uneventful, Tord stopping every so often to watch Tom stumble and be ready to help him up if needed. Luckily they didn't have to walk long, Tord coming to a stop at the hood of a red Vauxhall Astra. Tom raised a brow.

"Hold on, just how far is this place?"

Tord shrugged off the question, pulling open the passenger door as he walked to the driver's side. "Only a half hour at most, don't worry over little things."

Tom wasn't convinced but climbed in any way, relaxing into the worn leather like it might as well have been an Aston Martin. As the yellow glow of street lamps flashed past the windows, Tom wouldn't realise he fell asleep till Tord pulled up outside their destination.

* * *

 

Tom looked around the place with unmasked amazement. "Where the hell did you get the money for this?" The room had to be about 40x40 and was crammed full of tables and countertops, all coated in medical and scientific equipment. It reminded tom of more of a lab than a clinic, looking like the old chemistry room at Orleans Park Secondary. Tord led him over to an exam table.

"Government funding." Tord lied easily. "You cure one disease and sudden money is being thrown at you from all directions."

Tord pulled some latex gloves and a syringe from the adjacent draw, automatically making Tom tenser. Tord noticed this and grinned, whilst Tom huffed at him. Tord was, unsurprisingly, an asshole when taking the blood sample. Without warning, he all but stabbed Tom's arm with the syringe. Taking immense pleasure as Tom yelped and glared daggers at the man. He ignored Tom's indignant mumbling as he walked over to a microscope, using a pipette to drop a tiny amount on his slide.

It was incredible. Looking at Tom's DNA there wasn't any way to identify it as human. Tord may as well have a sample from a jellyfish for all it was worth. And yet Tom didn't look any different than he did eight years ago. It made Tord wonder if the process just simply took this long because that would _not_ do. He needed to know more. Has Tom ever mutated physically like he thought he would? Had he ever had bursts of memory loss or random pain? He _needed_ to hear that it had some effect other than changing his insides. It can't have all been for nought like this.

"Tom, I think I know what's been causing your sickness. But I need some more information first before I jump to any conclusions."

"Could you stop being so vague and just tell what is going on."

"You're going to have to just trust me on this."

Tom burst out laughing. It was bitter and completely understandable. Tord opted to ignore that. Instead, he pulled out his pager, discretely altering his two best men that he might need their assistance. You can never be too safe.

"Tom, have you ever experienced extended periods of memory loss?"

Tom seemed uncomfortable with the question, shifting in his seat and reaching into his hoodie for a bottle that wasn't there.

"..Yeah. It was a few months back, our neighbours had installed a radioactive satellite dish on their roof."

_Radioactive?_

"Edd got super powers for the day, and he and Eduardo, the guy from next door, got into a fight over the city. It was like two toddlers throwing nukes at each other. Matt and I got dragged into it and I ended up taking a punch that sent me from Soho to Trafalgar." Tord couldn't help but wince. "And I remember getting up from the fall, but then nothing. One minute I'm lying in an alley the next I'm in the middle of Hyde park with my hair singed and matt spewing shit about a monster."

_Now that sounds promising._

"A monster?"

Tom shrugged. "Yeah apparently, Edd fought it but it was Eduardo that killed it, they said it was huge and only had one eye. I still don't know if they're just fucking with me."

_Bingo._

Tord reached a hand into his hoodie pocket, fumbling with the cracked vial. Decision time. Tord was desperate to know more, he was so close to getting the big answers he wanted eight years back, aching for now. He discreetly punctured the vial's cap with a spare syringe, carefully pulling the plunger back as he walked back over to Tom.

He would probably regret this later, but one way or the other Tom would be out of the picture and that suited Tord just fine.

He strolled casually closer, offhandedly chatting on. "Sounds like you missed out. If there was a monster like that in London, I doubt it could stay hidden for long. Who knows, it might resurface sooner rather than later."

Tom shrugged, uneasy with making small talk with his enemy. "Whatever, can you focus please, I'd rather get out of here and away from you as soon as possible."

Tord flicked his nose in response, laughing uncaring as the other man fumed. "We're almost done, idiot." His grin turned sadistic. "Only one...more... test."

With Tord quickly pulled the needle from his pocket, grabbing Tom's arm as he thrust it in. Tom yelled and tried to break away, but Tord was stronger, with years in the military behind him, and pushed the plunger down with a triumphant grin.

Tom collapsed, falling from the exam table with a thud. Tord stood over him ominously, the blue light of the overhead LED fluorescents casting his face in shadow. Tom rived at his feet and he couldn't help but laugh, proud to have put his enemy in such a state.

That was until Tom began to scream.

Tord stepped back, afraid he had administered too much, or that Tom's body couldn't handle the second dose. He soon realised it was neither of those things and promptly fled as Tom's bones began to snap.

Tord sprinted away, finding cover behind a countertop. He hid frozen, arms spread against the wall, as the sound of screaming grew quiet, and growling took its place. He gripped the edge as he peered over the top. Eyes locked onto a hulking black monstrosity between the flasks and beakers. Despite the sudden and perilous situation, he found himself in, he was laughing ecstatically as he slipped back down. "Holy shit." He breathed through the adrenaline rush.

The creature's chest was heaving as it sank it's claws into the ground, whining in the aftermath of his transformation. Everything about it looked lethal. It has a muscular torso similar to a pit bull or boxer, clearly built less for speed and more for power. From the looks of its head's square shape, it had a locking jaw like a bulldog, something to definitely avoid. Once it had a hold on something that mouth would need to be pried off.

Despite the majority of its body being coating in a fine layer of coarse hair, it's throat and upper head had an almost fluffy ruff, clearly to protect the weak point that is the jugular and skull. The creature stood up, it's short, bulky tail swaying lazily as it took a few tentative steps. Tord noticed it was walking with its head lowered, driving forward with its horns as if it was using them to avoid running into something, was that to make up for its lack of depth perception?

Watching it Tord could definitely see how it would hunt, the front paws were about a meter and a half wide, in comparison to its small hind feet, that had to be no bigger than 80 centimetres. It almost appeared disproportionate, and would obviously rely on pinning down prey before finishing it off with a single crushing bite.

Those teeth were going to be an issue.

The creature- _Tom_ , sniffed the air and his head whipped round in Tord's direction. Tord didn't even have time to curse before the beast was upon him. He screamed as he flew round the corner of the table, Tom bounding behind him like a seven-tonne puppy after a cat. Tom's shoulder smashed into the cabinets overhead and Tord barely avoided the rain of splintered plastic. Tord skidded as he weaved through the maze of medical cabinets and worktops, landing on his arse in a tight square of tables.

He could hear Tom pounding at the other side of the desk he was leant against. And gasped as one of Tom's huge claws scratched blindly for him through the gap between the table and the ceiling cabinets. Tord leant round the corner, hoping to see just how close Tom was to him. And came in direct line of Tom's left paw. It could be said that Tom flicked Tord's nose. If you would consider a foot long claw slashing his face from cheek to forehead as such.

Tord screamed as he fell backwards, grasping at his left eye which was now blinded by blood. He didn't have time to dwell on it though, as the counter began to rock with the force of Tom ramming against it. Tord squeezed through the opposite gap and crawled for the far left of the room, all too relieved that Tom hadn't seemed to notice his escape just yet.

He was all too aware of the sound of Tom growling and smashing his precious equipment behind him, but tried to focus on just reaching the table in the corner. He heard a cabinet collapse and the crash of Tom climbing over it, his bulking form pressing to the ceiling as he scaled the obstacle. By now he had noticed the absence of his target and was searching the room for the missing man.

Tord reached his goal with a barely stifled " _yes_." and began to rummage in the drawer. Searching the neat stacks of bottles. The labels were extremely difficult to read with his impaired vision, but he swiftly found the tranquillizer he wanted. A strong enough dose of this could put down an elephant, although he more commonly used it as a small dose anaesthetic for injured soldiers.

Just in time too, as Tom had begun to make his way over to where Tord was crouching. He forced himself to wait, fingers poised on the plunger and ready to pounce. He tried to breathe steadily as the sound of lumbering strides grew closer, and then took his chance. He caught Tom off guard, stabbing him a third time, hoping the saying was correct and praying it would work. Unfortunately for him, he had no god to hear it and was promptly thrown against a wall.

He groaned as he tried to sit up, opening his eye to see the monster hurtling towards him. He involuntarily flinched at the sight and blacked out for a second as he smashed his head against the counter. That was all Tom needed to pin him down.

Tord's chest was heaving as he reached up to the countertop, his hand fumbling desperately for purchase on any sort of weapon whilst Tom's heavy paw pressed down on his legs. Unfortunately, that was the wrong thing to do, and tom bit down on the moving target. Tord couldn't contain his scream as tom locked his jaw around his left arm. And he grew even louder as tom began to pull, shaking his head to and fro like a dog with a chew toy. The pain was excruciating, and Tord put all his remaining energy into punching Tom's big stupid eye. Clawing at it in an attempt to make him let go. Oh god just let go.

Tom grunted as Tord bombarded him, and responded by grabbing his head, hoping to stop the irritant by restraining it further.

His giant hand clamped around Tord's face and he could feel as the left side of his face was parted by the claws, skin and flesh splitting into shreds under the immense pressure and Tom adjusting his grip.

"Red leader!"

Tord couldn't see but he knew those voices. Sargent's De Vries and Dunajski were clamouring in through the doorway. Having been making the journey over when they first heard the sound of a skirmish. Tord would have sighed in relief if he could. Thank fuck those two were here.

Honestly, the sight they walked in on was grim. Shock waves of medical debris circling the scene at its epicentre. Tord offered a strained smile to his men, but the gesture meant little, the beast pressing him into the floor being a bit more eye drawing. Patryck's hands flew to his mouth, stifling his gasp in an attempt to avoid alerting the creature. Paul was a little less tactful. He slid over a table, running furiously at the monster, gun in hand. Its head whipped round to face him, pulling Tord's entire arm with it. The one eye almost made Paul stop in his tracks, And the beast began to bound its way over to the new target. Thankfully leaving (most of) Tord behind. Paul let out a battle cry as he sped head first at the colossal beast.

With eyes squeezed shut he began to pump lead in its direction, yelling all the while, and heard a crash as it fumbled. However when he opened his eyes it was clear he had not hit his mark, rather the target had tripped on an overturned gurney and was now skidding across the floor, smashing into worktops and countless beakers as it went. It took a last-minute dive to avoid being crushed as it barrelled past, eventually coming to rest metres from a tense and poised Patryck. His finger sat braced on the trigger, the barrel dead on the things large void-like eye.

Luck seemed to shine on them at that moment though, because the creature stayed down, rasping with strained breaths as if the tumble had been less of a trip and more of a missile to the chest. Patryck was not going to take any chances, and fired a round into one of its colossal paws, hoping it would not be back on its feet anytime soon.

As soon as he was sure it was safe the man sprinted across the room, kneeling beside his leader.

"Oh my god." He put shaking hands to the man's neck, checking for a pulse despite the fact that said man was staring up at him with hazy eyes. Or rather, eye. He did not look good, and the sheer amount of blood he was sitting in didn't make it any better. He needed surgery fast.

Paul joins him at his leader's side. "Red leader! Can you hear us?"

Tord groaned and mumbled something incoherent. Patryck gently slapped his cheek as he radioed for medical attention. "Sir please try to focus and stay awake."

Paul was pressing his face close to Tord's, trying to make out what the man was saying. He flinched back as Tord spat up blood, and was slightly shocked when his leader grinned. Looking up at nothing in particular. Tord spoke again.

"He's fucking glorious."

As Paul shouted out for the help to hurry up, Tord fell unconscious.


	2. Bad Situation, Worse Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom swiftly decides wasting time on a tour isn't how he is going to spend his day.

Waking up had never come easily to Tom. It was always so much easier to wave the day passed from the seclusion of his sheets. Sure eventually he would drag himself to his feet for the sake of food or alcohol, but for a few hours, he allowed himself this state of bliss. He laid in bed, a sharp chill harassing his exposed face and hands, and suddenly his pillow felt too solid, his sheets too thin, his mattress too sturdy. And then there was a gun to his head.

He couldn’t even crack his eyes open before the questions began. “Who are you? Did someone send you? What was that thing?" Tom really wished he was back on that park bench. He slowly rolled over onto his back, looking up at his interrogator with lidded eyes and bitter apathy. “Mornin’.”

__

The man above him was stone-faced, his entire demeanor saying ‘I have no time for your shit so don't push me’. Tom couldn’t care less. However, he did pick up on a faint snicker from somewhere behind him. Tom did his best to assess the situation in his groggy state. Clearly, there were two men, at least one armed. He was in a random bed, in a tiled room. The ceiling was lit by more LED fluorescents, and at the foot of the bed, Tom could see a very large, very bulky, steel security door.

Tom wanted to sit up and get a proper look around, but any movement seemed to be a movement too many at the moment. Upon feeling around the bed Tom realised he had slept on a concrete fixture that was jutting out from the wall, similar to a modern cell bed. No wonder his entire body ached, one hand, in particular, throbbing harshly. It was logically a cell, a cell with armed guards. Tord had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Another glance at the soldier made it clear he was growing impatient.

The stranger grit his teeth. “Look, I can’t relax until I know what the hell is going on and Red Leader still isn’t conscious to tell me. You’re the first one awake so you need to give me some answers. This doesn’t have to be hard.”

Tom was almost tempted to pull the sheets back up and go back to sleep. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself before you start harassing me?” Looking at this man he felt he should know him from somewhere. The red and blue uniform and parted bangs were familiar.

“Patryck. My partner is Paul.”

There was a “Hey.” from out of his line of sight.

Tom groaned, slowing sitting up as not to aggravate the dude with the gun. “All I know is Tord brought me here to help me” he accented “help” with air quotes. “And then, in true Tord fashion, drugged me and dumped me here. If you can fill the blanks I would appreciate it.”

The soldier wore a look of disbelief. “Fill the blanks?  _ Oh, I can do that _ . My partner and I walked in on a goddamn monster mauling our Ge-” He cut himself off, trying to calm down. “Our  _ comrade _ , and then 20 minutes later while we're finishing up cleaning up its mess, it turns into you. Does that make things any clearer for you?”

Tom could have laughed. That was the type of bullshit he would expect from the producers of ‘Insane Zombie Pirates From Hell’. This guy can't be serious. But still, Tom felt a nagging feeling in his gut as links started to appear from the days he lost time and the various similarities between them- there always happened to be a news report on damage to buildings in the area. He had seen reports zoom in on too-huge paw prints and, that day back in Hyde Park... “Honestly, no.”

Patryck pulled the gun from Tom’s head, convinced he was not about to have any trouble from the detainee. “You really don’t remember? It feels like turning into a monster should be something hard to forget.”

“Apparently I’ve made a habit of it.” He deadpanned.

He squinted as he tried to look around a bit more, his groggy mind yet to adjust to the light. He eventually looked back at Patryck with a half-asleep, half-incredulous expression.

“A monster.” He mulled the news over. It was hard to pull his thoughts together. Some of him was decided that this was his head fucking with him and he was actually passed out in Tord’s lab, or even back in the park. The part that dealt with aliens and fish people on a weekly basis wasn't so sure.  “You said I was mauling him. Is the fucker dead?”

“No.”

“Damn. Maybe next time.”

“Okay, you are in a really serious situation so I think you need to stop making jokes and start giving us answers.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Patryck lifted his gun again.

“Okay okay, if you’ve gotten the hard-ass soldier introduction out-of-the-way, I’d appreciate it if Tord would show his face. I came here for answers, not whatever the hell this is.”

The second soldier finally came into Tom’s line of sight. He seemed considerably more relaxed than the first, which was hopefully a good sign. “If you want Lawson you’ve got some waiting to do. He’s still under the knife.”

_ Surgery? I did that much damage? Cool. _

Tom turned to the more reasonable of the two. “Okay. Obviously, Tord hasn’t been working as an inventor for the last eight years. So where in hell am I?”

“A military base.”

Tom stopped in his tracks. “... _ Of course. _ ”

At the news Tom did a double take, only just recognising the red and blue uniforms both men wore. And then recognising the men themselves. “Hey, I know you. You two are... all over the news. Like every day. How have you not been arrested yet?”

“Because believe it or not people support the Red Army. There’s a reason the zombie outbreak was so short, or why most major conflicts in Europe and Asia have died down.”

Tom snorted at that, not believing it for a second. “One more question. Can I get out of bed yet? I don’t know about you but for me, this entire conversation has been sorta downplayed by how stupid it feels.”

Paul nodded, putting down Tom’s clothes on the counter nearby. “We got them washed for you, had to take the flask though. If you want a drink you have to get it from the mess like everyone else.”

“What sort of bullshit rule is that? How have you not mutinied yet?”

Patryck huffed. “Because it's an unlimited supply as long as we don't take it out of the mess, that's good enough for any man. It means Red Leader can keep a better record of his men’s well being and such, it's what's best for the forces overall.”

“Oh god, you sound like a communist. Is this an entire army of communists?”

Paul laughed. And didn’t answer his question. While Patryck walked over to the door, holding it open for his comrade. “So, you going to behave? We can give you a tour if you return the favour and give us some answers.”

“That's so lame.” He pulled himself from the sheets and threw his hoodie over his head, confident he wasn't going to be in danger the second the fabric obscured his vision.” Fine. I’ll come with you, but not without my flask back.”

Patryck didn’t respond, shutting the door behind him as he gave the man some privacy. Tom was severely wishing he had just gone back to sleep after all. He didn't know if be could be bothered to deal with all this bullshit. An army? Tord in a hospital? A god damn monster? And who the hell was this Red leader they kept mentioning? Tom had only heard the name in news reports, and none of it was ever exactly positive.

Tom put on his hoodie slowly, checking the door with a glance before using the small window of opportunity to check out the room. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, cameras, secret buttons or switches, anything classically Tord that could clew him in. He didn't believe what Paul and Patryck were selling for a second, and a hidden fog machine full of sleeping gas, or maybe a conjoined door leading into a bear cage, would really help to confirm Tom’s suspicions.

Of course, he found nothing of the sort. He could say one thing for definite though. This army had really nice washing detergent.

He didn't want the soldiers getting suspicious so he reluctantly turned and reached for the door. Paul pat Tom’s back as he came out of the room, to which Tom pulled away glaring daggers. Paul put his hands up mockingly, clearly sitting on more than a few snarky comments.

Patryck began to lead them down the hall, But Tom chose to wait as Paul lingered, wanting to keep the men in front of him in clear sight. Paul ignored him, pulling a cigarette from a box, but seemingly content to obey the law and keep it unlit. It was odd to Tom that, as a man who was breaking many laws, Paul would draw the line at that one. The soldier smiled under Tom’s scrutiny and began to stroll ahead as well. Any man or woman they came across stopped to salute the two, greeting them with “Sirs.” or “Sergeant.” or just a nod. It was certainly a surprise to find out these two were highly ranked. They gave off the vibes of lackeys or sidekicks to Tom.

“So this is the red army huh? What the hell does Tord do here? He’s a soldier?”

Tom noticed that Patryck seemed a little on edge. “Yeah, he’s higher up the ranks than any of us though.”

Tom was only half surprised, Tord had shown his knack for war back at Hillary’s camp. “Really? How far up? What the hell did he do to get higher than you two?” His hangover clouded mind struggled for a moment. “Come to think of it what even is higher than a sergeant?”

Paul answered for Patryck, who was, unbeknownst to Tom, growing a little uncomfortable. “It’s not really our place to answer, just be patient and Lawson can talk to you himself.”

Tom grumbled as he followed behind the men. He  _ needed _ his flask back. There was a steady thrum creeping into the back of his head that served as his hangover early warning system. It was the last straw that set him on one goal. And to begin he would have to give these two the slip.

Paul and Patryck were content to chat icily as they lead him round the corner, another man in uniform greeted them as he passed and offered Tom a smile. God this was weird. Tom had been in the military, and so far this place looked nothing like an arms base should. It reminded him more of a secondary school, complete with motivational posters on the walls and a uniform that was better suited for Orléans Park School than an army.

Tom didn't feel good about this, Paul and Patryck didn't even seem to be paying attention to him, but he knew better. The were upholding a relaxed air to put him at ease, but these were trained soldiers. He had seen for himself when they were gunning down zombies on the news. They had looked like something from a movie, working together in such sync that they were able to work in extremely close quarters. The risk of friendly fire was ridiculously high, and yet they never once got in each other's way.

With that sort of skill in the field, Tom had very low hopes of sneaking off undetected. But of course, he didn't give a shit. At the heart of it, he had no reason to be here. He had been drunk and idiotic when he agreed to come, and now Tord wasn’t even around to explain anything. He knew he was getting out. The real question was what would happen after. Despite everything, he couldn’t return home. Both his anger and his pride wouldn’t allow it. He chose to hold on to the high hope that finding temporary housing would be easy. It was probably wishful thinking.

For now though? He was going to get himself drunk and see where it takes him, it had been proven fail proof in the past. Pat and Paul were already turning the next corner, and as Tom caught up he found them waiting for him outside another blank door. They ushered him in silently.

Tom stood in the doorway as the other men made their way inside, admiring the sea of stock before him. The sudden shift in temperature made it clear that it wasn't just a storeroom they had just entered, but the site’s mass refrigerator. The store-room was almost as large as Tord’s lab, lined with row upon row of metal shelves. Each loaded with all an army could need, from spare clips and rounds to rations and water. And a suspiciously large supply of bacon in the frozen section. It looked like a supermarket for villains.

“Yeah, I’m getting some alcohol.”

He followed Paul and Patryck quietly, looking around them at the man they were approaching. He was taking stock at the time but seemed only slightly annoyed at their interruption. Before Paul or Pat could greet him, Tom jumped the gun.

“Alcohol.” He instructed, holding out his hand.

The man looked at him suspiciously, before sending Patryck a questioning look. Patryck shrugged in response and the Quartermaster walked to the far side of the storage, reaching into a pantry. He brought Tom back a bottle of Carlsberg, something that Tom took offense to.  _ Looks like hard liquor is prohibited on site _ . He huffed but accepted it with obligatory thanks. Popping the cap and swigging it down with relief.

Whilst he drank, the other men attempted to discuss something privately. Paul leaned against the counter, watching Patryck work. The report they came to collect was a simple one. “How is Project Sierra developing?”

The quartermaster didn't seem pleased with his findings. “I'm sorry to say there's been little development in actually finding the objective. But as you know the asset has been re-established so that's one hurdle out the way with.”

Judging by Pat’s expression he did not know. “Wait, the asset?” He glanced over to Paul, who in turn subtly tilted his head behind them. Patryck followed the gesture to where Tom was obliviously swigging beer on the other side of the room, head thrown back and eyes closed in relief.

He turned back to the other men, mouth open in a silent drawn out “ohhhhh”.

It took a few minutes for the discussion to get anywhere useful, and two more bottles for Tom for the buzz to begin, by which point Paul had cut him off from the stock.

To say Tom got irritated at that would be obvious, but the warmth of tipsiness would be enough for him for now. So he stayed put and fiddled with his empty Carlsberg, running it from hand to hand. God he would kill for a moment alone to get his shit together. Or just a moment alone to shit. Actually, that suddenly seemed perfect.

He turned to the small group and called out with a wave. “Hey, I really need to piss!”

Patryck sighed, clearly unwilling to leave this discussion behind just because Tom had been stupid enough to down three pints in four minutes. Paul looked between his partner and his charge, and knowing that Pat would be more than capable of finishing the report without him, squeezed his comrade’s shoulder and volunteered himself for toilet duty.

“Come on then.”

* * *

They left the way they came, and Tom inwardly berated himself for not taking note of the directions the first time. Paul insisted on coming into the bathroom with him, which, whilst Tom couldn't blame him for it, was still a huge setback. If Tom was getting slight secondary school vibes from the hallways it was full-blown in here. Compete with scribbled messages on the mirror and a hygiene poster on the far wall above the hand dryer. Paul leaned up against the sink counter, fiddling with an unlit cigarette almost longingly.

Tom carefully cast a glance around the room as he made his way into a cubicle, happy to notice that there was a grate on the far wall, at knee height. The sound of the lock clicking into place was bliss. It meant he finally had a proper moment to get his head together and plan. It turned out Tom had actually needed to go, and his alcohol fogged mind decided mid-pee was a perfect time for small talk.

“What's Patryck’s problem?” Tom called out over the cubicle wall, making Paul jump before shaking his head at the drunkard’s behavior.

“He’s is just worried about Lawson. Once we know he will be okay, Pat will warm up to you.”

Tom shrugged, and the clatter of liquid on porcelain wavered. “I don't really care either way, I plan to be out of here before he has time to.”

Paul chuckled “I wouldn't go saying that too loudly.” Tom went back to peeing, and Paul went back to rolling the cig between his fingers.

He dropped it when there was a violent crash from within the only occupied cubicle. The sound of urine cutting short. Paul spun around, startled by the noise. “Tom? You okay in there?”

Tom groaned, scraping his hands down the door in an attempt to steady himself. He stumbled in the confined space, his lowered pants not helping the situation.

“S-Something’s wrong. I think it's happening again.” He called through gritted teeth. He attempted to stand again and smashed his side into the porcelain toilet.

“Oh shit. Shit shit shit.” Paul looked around frantically, trying to think.  _ God, why did Tord have to be unconscious? _ He turned back to Tom’s cubicle with panic. “Okay Tom, just erm... try to fight it off, I'm going to get Patryck and go find help.”

Tom sat uncomfortably lodged between the toilet seat and the cubicle wall. Painting heavily and suddenly feeling far too big in the small space. A growl ripped itself from his drawn back lips. Even from his tipsy state, Tom knew it must have sounded forced, but it got the message across. “H-Hurry.”

And then Paul was gone, the bathroom door slamming loudly behind him.

* * *

Paul was dashing for the store-room with the same amount of desperation he felt on the day of the zombie outbreak. The scene that played out was sort of like exaggerated Deja Vu. He burst through the doors, men, and women turning with a start to stare at the noise. He stormed over to Pat with determination and worry, before grabbing his partner by the arm.

“Pat! Tom’s turning into the monster again! You got to help, I don't know what to do!” Patryck sprung into action. Grabbing his rifle from beside the table and following Paul out of the room.

They were in no sense of the word prepared for this. Paul could see it now, the massive creature tearing its way down the halls, ripping into any poor sods that happened to be in its way. Tord would wake up to a dozen body bags and a lost asset, as there was no way they would be able to leave Tom alive after such a breach in security. Red Army protocol would require them to execute him, and it might not even get that far. Tom could die in their attempts to stop him. This was going to be hell.

* * *

Tom  _ had _ started to feel claustrophobic in there. But of course he was a small guy, and supping out of the side of the loo was easy enough. He unlocked his cubicle with a shit eating smirk and whistled as he marched over to the vent he saw, never happier to be living out a Hollywood cliche. The grate came off easier than he expected, and god it really  _ was _ starting to feel like a Hollywood storyline. Regardless, he applauded his own genius and shimmied into the vent.

All in all, dragging yourself through a vent system isn’t nearly as cool as the movies made it out to be. The air tasted of dust and was uncomfortably warm on the back of his throat. Tom hadn't been in there five minutes before he decided he wanted out.

Kicking out a vent cover was also a lot harder than in the movies. Nevertheless, he knocked the bolts out eventually and shimmied his was out of the small opening. Vowing never again to attempt that particular escape plan. He sat on the linoleum for a moment, catching his breath as he stretched out his legs. The room was similar to the lab he’d first entered, except for the fact that it was in perfect working order and slightly smaller. As good a place as any to start looking for a way out.

He stood with effort and dusted himself off as best he could. The room, like much of the rest of the base, had no windows. Instead, the walls were lined with lab equipment he couldn't name and symmetrical doors. He began pacing on the left side of the room, trailing one hand along the worktop beside the wall, and taking some degree of smug pleasure as the glass and paperwork clattered to the floor. Every few meters he stopped to try the door next to him. And then after affirming it was locked or a closet, he continued on his sweeping march, bulldozing equipment lazily.

Eventually, he lucked out, the door he swung open leading out into a hall. A quick glance around confirmed he was alone, so he abandoned his mess and marched forward. He was absent-mindedly counting the tiles beneath his feet when he turned a corner. Almost falling over when he spotted the backs of two men. Swiftly he changed direction, and at the next crossroads he found, he faced the same situation. This continued for a good ten minutes, by this point even a drunken fool could realise something wasn't quite right.

He took up a more serious approach to the situation, clearly, he wasn't planning to stroll out leisurely anymore. And with the too-convenient placement of guards. He had a very strong feeling akin to a sheep being corralled by a shepherd's dog. This feeling didn't leave, even as he was cornered, the only way forward being an inconspicuous set of double doors. It wasn’t till he entered the room that he fully realised, he had been played.

“Ha!  _ You really are an idiot. _ ”

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or groan. This was just his luck. He turned slowly from the door, hands slipping from the handles as they clicked shut. His gaze followed the trail of wires and beeping heart monitors to a bandaged lump of a man sitting across the room.

“Tord.”

Looking at the mess of gauze it was hard to comprehend the pain he must be in. Tom looked at Tord the way a child gawks at the decapitated corpse of a fox on a train track. He was revolted, and a little sympathetic, but he still had the urge to find a stick and poke at him with it for shits and giggles.  “Holy m-” he cut himself off before  _ that _ old habit slipped out “shit. You look like _...shit. _ ”

Tord’s expression mimicked his appearance. His head lulled as he tried to get a better look at Tom, it was clear even that involuntary movement was causing him discomfort. He gave up on adjusting himself and let his head drop back to his pillow.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time Tom. It’s incredible how you managed to ruin my life within 20 minutes of being involved in it again.”

Tom didn’t reply straight away, instead, he focused on the propped up Ipad that just so happened to be displaying the feed’s of multiple security cameras, and the pager sitting beside it.  _ That bastard. _

He instead, shrugged. “I refuse to take the blame for that.” He said gesturing broadly at Tord. And then he paused, contemplating what was wrong with this scene. “I expected you'd be angrier.”

“I am  _ extremely _ morphine high right now.” Tord sighed. “Give me a day and I'm sure I'll be jamming the muzzle of my carbine in your eye socket. You should probably consider yourself the luckiest man alive.” There was an awkward silence for a moment. Tord broke it with his musings. “You know, you have  _ ruined  _ my life with one action,  _ crippled me _ . You all but ate _ my arm _ . I think the only reason I haven't cracked your head open is that I've invested in you. I can't let eight years of experimentation go to waste.” He fiddled with the gauze on his arm as if itching to get up and go for Tom. “So I’m  _ willing _ to continue to try working together, you get peace of mind, I get my results. For your own sake Tom, don’t make me be the bad guy.”

Tom rolled his eyes at the last sentence. “Pssh. you did that yourself.” And then the more glaring parts of Tord's statement hit him. “Wait you did  _ what _ to me!”  _ eight years of experimentation. _ Fuck. If Tord was taking credit for this monster bull shit, then Tom had no doubt left in his mind that it was true. Tord had  _ experimented _ on him. Just when Tom thought he couldn’t hate the man more than he already did.

Tord huffed, his foggy head clearly not picking up on Tom’s anger. “Trust me it’s a vast improvement. By all rights, you should be thrilled.”

Tom, in turn, wanted to scream. In any other situation, he might have actually been excited by the idea of monster powers, but..“ _ you _ did it to me! Why the fuck would you- What is  _ wrong with you _ ?!”

Tom crossed to Tord's bed, his expression more pissed than hurt. He drew his fist back, his jaw clenched tight and knuckles white from the strain.  _ Hadn’t Tord done enough? How did he manage to come back into their lives for one week and throw everything up in the air again? _ He couldn’t contain his anger, nor did he want to.  _ “Why _ are you  _ such  _ an  _ asshole _ ?” He threw the fist at Tord’s face.

Tord groaned, cradling his jaw with his one hand. Looking over at his assailant with disgust. “Fucking hell Tom, can you stop throw bitch fits every two minutes?!” He rubbed at his jaw, body turned away from his old roommate.

“You are not helping your situation. All you’re achieving is making me want to kill you faster.” He used his position to his advantage, reaching for his page with his own back as a visual shield. “When I'm not on the verge of a medically induced coma we will talk your position over more thoroughly, but for now I'm just going to alert the forces that have gathered outside the door and savor the sight of you getting your face slammed into the floor. It's been fun.”

Tom watched Tord slam his hand down on the pager like a deer in car headlights. “Oh, you  _ fucker _ .” He dove for cover as a battalion of men filled in through the doors. Tord did his best to look regal in his current state, and despite it all, was able to uphold that air surprisingly well.

Tom knew with the utmost urgency that he needed a weapon. He could hear footsteps approaching, one of the ballsier soldiers closing in on him. Tom waited until the last possible moment, poised and ready to strike. He could only hope he was strong enough to take the man’s gun. The poor sod didn't even have a chance to say more than “on your feet-” before he had five long gouges across his face. Tom stood shocked. He was frozen for a moment, staring at his outstretched hand and the five freakishly sharp nails that had come out of nowhere. But then he snapped out of it and pulled the rifle from the man’s grasp. He fired a few rounds near the left group's feet, sprinting for the exit as they jumped out-of-the-way. He was almost to the door when someone caught the scruff of his hoodie. He gagged, the fabric pulling taught on his throat. He span round and swung for the woman, relieved when she stumbled back and his hood fell from her grasp.

He made it to the door and threw it wide, dodging through and into the empty hall. The sound of clamoring footsteps carried closely behind, and he was already feeling the sudden adrenaline rush wear off.  His sneakers screeched as he sprinted down the polished hallways, desperately looking for a door that wasn't the default gray. He needed to leave. To warn Edd about Tord. The soldiers were much fitter than him, but he had desperation on his side. The primal need to hide was stronger than any order they could follow, and Tom managed to stay ahead.

He burst down a 20m hallway, all but smashing into a wall as it abruptly turned to the right. He could have cried with relief of what he saw, at the end of this hall was a set of blue double doors, and through the small port windows, he could see trees. It was the final stretch, and he bolted for it like it was the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. He smashed into the doors, both of them swinging open widely from the force, and making way for him in the dirt. He refused to stop, clamoring to his feet with stubborn determination.

He was standing with the dust of a London road beneath his feet. The sun hit his face with a gentle warmth, filtered only in a few sparse places by the oak and willow trees. The only problem was, this courtyard had a roof. He was still in the base.

 

 


	3. Throwing Punches is Easier than Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The base still sucks, Tom is still pissed and Tord is more than ready to put an end to his BS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while. I'm pretty sorry about that, but alas I, like all shitty fanfic writers, have a busy life to focus on. This chapter is unbeta'd and I barely bothered to check it over for mistakes or poor writing so sorry if it's disappointing. I'll probably make adjustments to it as I go. Enjoy and I'll probably see you in a few months lmao.

This sucked. Tom stood pressed against the wall of the dusty courtyard, a crescent moon of pea-coated soldiers pinning him to its edge. He was starting to think that maybe running into the only open space in the entire base was a bad idea. Maybe.

Patryck and Paul stood across from him, Paul appearing mostly embarrassed whilst Pat just looked exasperated. He stood with a palm on his hip, staring tiredly at his ward. “Come on Tom this is getting ridiculous. You literally just needed to wait for Red Leader to wake up, why did you have to make this so hard?”

Tom had to resist the urge to flash his middle finger. He refused to let them convince him that this place wasn’t hell on earth. A reasonable person would have taken the pause to collect their thoughts, assess the situation and come up with a somewhat solid plan to progress. But this was Tom Thompson, and he was far from reasonable. He stared down Patryck and Paul, the atmosphere like that of a duel in a tacky Hollywood western. Tom narrowed his eyes as he mimicked every TV Cowboy showdown ever and shifted into a lower stance, hell you could probably hear the tense music if you listened hard enough. He wriggled his fingers at his trouser pockets...and booked it away from the confrontation with a pivot.

Running for the far left of the crescent he muttered curses repeatedly under his breath as he kicked up dust. A man stood directly in his path, lifting his weapon in preparation, so naturally Tom dove for the soldier. He barreled into the man, gripping the gun and forcing it up far higher than the soldier had intended to lift it. The force slammed the barrel right into its owner’s face. Tom then ducked around the dazed and cursing recruit, celebrating with similar, colourful vocabulary as he sprinted for a set of double doors.

Patryck’s indignation could be felt across the quad. “Oh for fuck sake- get him!”

And just like that Tom was being dogpiled by a small army of on-site personnel. He couldn’t even struggle under the weight of a dozen well-disciplined soldiers. Some rando quickly clipped cuffs on Toms wrist’s, and Tom reluctantly lifted his head to a sight that made him want to vomit. Patryck’s condescending smirk was intolerable, second only to Matt’s during an argument.

“Looks like you've finished wasting everyone's time.” He nodded to a boy with a buzz cut, and a ponytailed blonde. “Get him back to his room, I'm going to tell Red Leader the fuss is over.”

The group of soldiers began to dust themselves off and return to their posts, the man and woman specified lifting Tom from the floor. Most of the reds spoke idly as they walked away, some snickering at Tom’s expense, others acting so carefree that Tom doubted they ever saw him as a threat in the first place. These guys were all assholes, Tord had certainly found his niche.

After the morning he just had, the truths he just discovered, Tom couldn't believe he was about to be led back into those walls. Not that he had truly left them in the first place. This place was a nightmare and the men causing it all were walking two paces ahead of him. He refused to go back through those doors. _Fuck that._

With a very sudden, very unexpected show of coordination and sheer strength, he ripped his arms free from his captors and sprinted for Pat, kicking him so hard he tumbled into the nearest wall.

The move did not gain Tom his freedom, but it did give him satisfaction and that was almost as good. Paul was quick to react, punching Tom in the face and forcing him back into the grip of the soldiers whilst his head was still reeling. “You goddamn moron!” Paul spat and then went to his partner's side.

As Tom’s vision cleared, something about the sight before him left him shaken. Patryck sat propped up against the wall, his head hanging as he took a moment to collect himself, it was only for a second and then he was back on his feet, but it was enough for Tom’s memories to click into place.

 _ASDFLand_.

The realisation actually hit him quite hard, he started piecing things together more and more, he’d seen Pat and Paul around before. And often. Too often to be convenience. He wasn't sure what this could mean. Had they been stalking him and his friends? Had Tord ever really “left” or was he watching from afar the whole time? Did the Red Leader know about him? Who _was_ the Red Leader? Tom could have asked a hundred questions. But that would have been stupid considering the spectacle he just caused. Instead, he decided to push his luck one step further and play the only card he had left- petty retribution.

“You assholes think you've got one up on me? I’ve seen you in the field. Stepping over your half-dead asses in the ASDFLand arcade really gave me a good first impression of the red army.”

He took note of Pat’s shocked expression and decided to push it further.

“It was pretty irritating trying to play video games when the buttons were sticky though. You could have been more careful not to get your blood all over the controls.” Not even close to the truth, but it had the desired effect.

_“What is wrong with you.”_

 

* * *

 

Getting Tom back to the cell was an easy task despite his dedication to letting them drag him the whole way there. They had to form a human wall the moment they got him inside, as the second they let go he was sprinting for the door again. Eventually, the blonde soldier got a hit on him strong enough to knock him back and they were able to shut the door on him. Outside the room, the two lackeys saluted and were dismissed, whilst Tom slammed his fists repeatedly on the metal from within.

Paul called out to him to stop, but the stubborn man continued despite multiple reprimands from the soldier. It took Paul mimicking Tom to get the man inside to listen. “Tom. You're an idiot. You jumped to conclusions and now we're going to have to apply stricter protocol to the situation.” He sighed as he leaned on the door. “Seriously, we're not looking for a fight, we just needed to watch you whilst we waited.”

Pat scoffed. “Paul doesn't speak for everyone. I wanted to shoot you.”

Paul looked at him extremely unamused. His tone deadpan as he reminded him -“Patryck you did shoot him. In the foot. At point-blank.”

Tom was not having any of it. They could not legally keep him here and he knew it, being in some secret bullshit army doesn't make you above the law. “You can’t keep me prisoner!”

Paul groaned,“You’re not a prisoner! you...”, and realised mid-sentence that prisoner was a pretty good label for him. “Just can’t leave yet.” He tried to recover by reasoning that -“We tried going about this the easy way, but since you decided to cause a fuss this is our only option. Think of it like a hotel with a 24-hour curfew.”

He could almost see Tom roll his eyes, despite the three inches of metal between them or that he probably wouldn't be able to tell he did even if he was standing in front of him. “Sure, if a modern hotel included bolted steel doors, concrete desks, and a toilet 2 feet from the bed.”

“Look, Tom it’s only for a day with any luck, then Red leader can come and sort this all out, and you can go back to whatever you have to go back to up there.”

“What do you mean by that?”

 _Fuck._ Pat was glaring at him strongly, but even without the visual aid, Paul knew he had fucked up royally. “What?”

“Up there? Just where the hell are we? Why the fuck is Tord living in an underground rebel base like he thinks he's in a Star Wars movie!”

Patryck seemed almost defensive. “Look. The world is a hell hole thanks to the assholes in government. At least Red Leader is trying to change that, that already puts him about everyone else in my opinion. Don't compare us to fiction. Our work here matters.”

Tom paused from behind the door. “That’s why you follow him.”

Paul stepped in. “Yeah, the Red Army gives me hope, the General helps people when no one else will. Tord helps people. He’s really not as bad as you think he is.”

Tom shook his head, wanting to laugh. “You don’t know him like I do. He just hasn't gotten what he wants yet, once he does you will all be old news.”

Paul almost looked hurt. Tom listened to their retreating footsteps and made a split second decision.

“Hey! Can I at least get my one phone call?”

 

* * *

 

“Tom?” Edd’s shock was visible through his voice, Tom could only imagine how his two housemates must have been suspicious over the last few days, one friend disappearing after another. He didn't blame Edd for not expecting him to call, he hadn't exactly been a good friend recently.

“Hi Edd.” He winced.

The stream of questions started immediately. “Where are you? Where’s Tord? What’s going on Tom?”

Tom suddenly faced a dilemma. The truth would be easy, a few hours ago he wouldn't have even hesitated to shout down the line about Tord’s villain origins and his subsequent victimisation. He would have thoroughly enjoyed it to be completely honest. But now he had doubts about revealing his condition. It wasn't that he feared Edd and Matt would reject him, they were too stupid to be afraid. He feared they would see it as a reason to let Tord stay, that they would conclude that Tord was needed in order to fix him.

“Yeah. I’m…booked up in a Travelodge for a few nights. I need time to get my head together. Tord though, no clue where he is.”

Edd went quiet for a moment. “That’s odd. He left looking for you and hasn't come back, why would he just disappear again so soon.”

“Maybe he got bored already, are you really surprised.” Tom spat. He couldn't believe Edd seemed to be worrying more about Tord than him now. It left a sour taste on his tongue. But then again, it really wasn't that surprising. Edd had put Tord first for a while now, so afraid that his ‘best buddy’ would run away again the moment someone dared to say boo. Tom didn’t know why he had called. Edd wasn't going to get him out of this situation. Hell, he hadn't even gone looking for him! Tord had! That realisation was the deal breaker. “Look Edd I have to go, stay away from my stuff.” He hit the call end button before Edd could even respond.

In was the first hour after the phone call that Tom realised that maybe Paul and Pat were serious about the stricter protocol. After the second he accepted they were. After eight he went to sleep and, after 15, he started to comprehend just how long this impromptu servitude could last.

 

* * *

 

Tord woke up to a tray clattering beside him. Doctors bringing another round of pain medication. He scoffed. It would not be needed. What he hadn’t expected to be brought in as a med report, similar to his own clipped to the end of his bed. It was a list of symptoms: seizures, confusion and elevated pulse, blood pressure and temperature. All the very recognisable consequences of going cold turkey. It didn’t take a genius to guess who the report centered around, although Tom’s name was already at the top of the sheet. Tord gave the messenger a nod and a requested his right hands come in.

They were quick about it too. Tord suspected they had their hands full with Tom and were just overly happy to get some real direction in handling the situation. Pat’s grimace didn't go unnoticed by Tord, whilst Paul seemed unfazed. The two men crossed the room in a brisk walk, eager to reach his side and take orders again.

Tord allowed himself a small smile. “Morning soldiers, how is everything holding up?” They both squared up at the question, so predictable.

“Everything is running smoothly Sir.” Paul responded, and then paused. “Well, except for Sierra. We’re having some trouble.”

Pat snorted. “That’s _all_ we’ve been having. Speaking plainly Sir, your friend is one of the biggest pricks I've ever met.”

Tord did laugh at that. “Consider my situation, I had to live with him for five years.” The pilots’ smiled. “So what’s going wrong this time. I got the med report but I’d prefer to hear it from you.”

“As per your orders, we have restricted his access to base rations, including alcohol. We didn't cut him off entirely at first, but during the second week he managed to find and slice up all the monitoring tech in his cell with a bottleneck.”

Tord remembered that the loss of his feed was a dampener on an already bad day. One where he'd been having a _lot_ of issues calibrating his prosthetic.

“We cut him off and he got sick not long after. It started off as the normal symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, grogginess, and nausea, but after a day or so his blood pressure and temperature spiked. We thought it was just from going cold turkey so tried to treat him as you would any other alcoholic.” Pat’s expression turned sour. “He started having seizures an hour ago.”

Tord nodded. “How bad are they?”

“Not very, it could just be delirium tremens.”

“No.” Tord cut him off. “Tom has never quit drinking so suddenly before, so he has a low chance of getting DTs.” _Seems like alcohol isn't just a crutch for his personality._

“Just get the Quartermaster to bring over some liquor, we don't have time for this.”

With that deciding sentence he began to pull himself from the hospital sheets. Paul and Pat looked ready to object, but he knew they wouldn't. They respected his stubbornness. Tord was proud to say he only stumbled a bit once his feet touched the ground. Two weeks were a decent time gap to begin practicing with prospects. Although he knew very well that his arm would not be properly healed for another month or so. That wasn't going to stop him from taking a few of Tom’s teeth once he saw him.

He crossed the room with bold but laborious steps and plucked his clothes from a neat pile on the counter. His arm worked nicely and he was able to slip on his hoodie and coat with little struggle.

“Right. Let’s go sort him out.”

 

* * *

 

Tord knew what to expect when he opened that door. Still, it was quite the scene that erupted. Tom wasted no time before beginning an onslaught of insults and demanding questions. Despite his every sentence being punctuated with rasping breaths and poorly masked pain, he was in a real state. His hair was plastered to his pillow and his body quaked beneath the sheets. It gave Tord some satisfaction to see karma working its magic. So it was with reluctance when he pushed a bottle of whiskey into Tom’s face.

He looked pretty pitiful as he tried to recognise the bottle in his hand, but he was quick to chug the thing the moment he did. Paul and Pat looked almost concerned for him, while Tord only smirked when Tom eventually choked himself and spluttered alcohol down his chest. The bottle chimed as it shook in his quivering hand, yet there was an immediate improvement. He certainly looked a little less green in the face and his breathing was slowly evening out.

“How long has it been since you were last sober and why.” Tord wasn't looking to talk to him, he would rather beat the shit out of him. It was pretty hard to control his anger, he had to remind himself that gaining more knowledge on his experiment was more important.

Tom shrugged, too concerned with finishing off his bottle. Eventually, he reached the bottom and reluctantly pulled it from his lips. “A while. It’s still just as unpleasant as I remember it.”

“I need specifics here. We’ve got no time for dicking around so give me a straight answer. I know this isn't your body's normal response to being cut off so don't try to lie.”

Tom huffed and acted like he hadn't heard him.

“Damn it, Tom, just answer us so we can get this over with.” Paul prompted from the doorway.

Tom held eye contact with him for a moment before sighing and giving into the logic. “When I'm sober I get these headaches, but not hangover headaches. And my forehand hurts like hell, and my… whatever it’s called- the area on your back above your butt.”

Tord jotted it down. It seemed that a nature depressant like alcohol was able to suppress whatever was in the serum. He relayed this to Tom.

Tom didn't really react, proving to Tord that he was already aware of the fact. He stared into his whiskey glass with a frustrated expression. “Can't you just take that shit out of me?”

“Pssh of course not. If you leave a sponge soaked in red dye for eight years do you think the colour will come out of that?” The fact that Tord was not waiting another eight years to continue was left unsaid.

Tom scrunched his nose up “Whatever. Just an excuse for me to drink more then.”

Tord scoffed. “No, it's not because you are going to learn to control it.”

“Uh-huh yeah control it sure.” Tom took a long swig from his flask and the relief was immense. His head was already starting to settle into a much more comfortable haze, and his hands were considerably less shaky.

“It’s true, it's what red leader wants and I'm pretty sure this should prove that you need to learn.”

_“Why.”_

Tord paused. “What?”

“Why is this guy so set on getting answers out of me. You’ve been working here for years, you could have just made some other dumb commie your guinea pig.”

The sudden shift in the feel of the room made it clear Tom had just wandered into unstable ground. Tord’s face implied a certain Lesley Gore song was playing in his head.

“If it was that easy I wouldn't be bothering with you right now. I’ve been reviewing your files for years on and off but I was so inexperienced when I began tests, there's no phase I trials let alone phase II clinicals. I didn't even keep track of sample size." His frustration was beginning to show. "As far as I know, you are just a statistical anomaly and all my research will end up being absolutely worthless!. _And,_ now I have to dedicate extra time and resources to my prosthetic research in order to fine tune this arm, so I don't have the time to start from scratch even if I could!”

Tom continued to spout something dumb and ignorant but Tord wasn't listening. He was furious that after all the had recently occurred, Tom had the audacity to sit there and complain to him. To question subjects he knew nothing about and act as if he expected Tord to pull a miracle cure out of his arse. He was at his wit's end, a man can only take so much pain, stress, and stupidity before he needs an outlet. He had earned a couple of moments of stress relief. So he turned to Tom with an unreadable expression and asked -"Feeling better?"

Tom immediately shut up. He didn’t know what Tord was playing at, but he sure as hell wasn't buying it. He just nodded curtly instead.

“Good.”

With only that as a warning, Tord span and delivered a forceful kick to Tom’s chest, sending the shorter man to the floor. Paul and Pat jumped at the sudden violence, before heading for the door. Even if they wanted to stop Tord, they knew better than to interfere now.

Tom gripped his torso, his head snapping up to snarl at Tord. _“What the fuck!”_

“Now we’re on the road to being even.” Tord shook out his prosthetic as he turned around. “We’re nowhere near done yet though. So get up.”

Tom couldn't help but growl, his fingernails drumming metallically against the floor tiles as he climbed to his feet.

When it came to fighting Tord, the last thing Tom needed was an excuse.

He swung a left hook, only clipping Tord’s shoulder as the red sidestepped. With a pivot, Tord’s prosthetic connected with Tom’s hip. The blow almost sent Tom off-balance, but he was able to right himself from the nose dive and spun around, setting a vice grip on Tord’s peacoat. With his new leverage, Tom sent a knee into Tord’s gut. Said opponent reeled back as a result, clearly winded.

Tom couldn't help but grin, despite it all, Tord’s militant background, his years of discipline, Tom’s pub brawl fight style was still enough to best that asshole.

Tord sent him a glare to counter Tom’s grin and took a moment to smooth the new creases in his coat. He took one authoritative step forward, then another. And with a burst of power, he was pressing his forearm into the crook of Tom’s neck, holding the Brit against the wall with ease. With his free arm he gave Tom a nasty black eye, then a slip lip, then a bruised nose.

“You really haven't changed at all have you.” Tord snarled.

With a shout, Tom retaliated against the remark, kicking Tord hard enough to loosen his grip, and snatching his arm to try switching their positions. The plan quickly changed, however, when Tom felt skin part under his grip. He looked down in shock at where his fingers met flesh and was disturbed to find blood pooling quickly around his nails, each one embedded in Tord’s remaining arm.

Despite how it must have stung, Tord was close to smiling, a faint smirk on his lips indicated that he had known something like this would happen. Bastard, Tom thought. Then, as if to add salt to the wound, Tord swung his arm in an arch, able to overpower Tom and fling him to the floor. Before Tom could recover his own arm was pinned down, Tord stomping down on the limb with unnecessary force. He took a long hard look at Tom’s hands and noted that in the short moments since Tom grabbed him, the nails had formed pretty nasty looking claws.

They were thick and heavy, not what you would expect to see on the long thin digits of a human hand. In fact, they almost looked impractical. Regardless Tom had them braced, ready for his opponent should the man slip up and give him the opportunity to use them.

“Oh stop with the wolverine crap already. You look like a shitty comic book villain.” Tord spat.

He was loving this, between his experiment rapidly developing and his prosthetic working perfectly Tord could almost ignore the urge to gut Tom with the bottleneck of a Diet Smirnoff.

As Tom struggled to get Tord off of him, Tord had to gloat. "You know I think I'm reconsidering your worth. You're nowhere near a challenge for me, and I'm crippled. If you cant even fight me then you're already a failed experiment. I might as well have you tossed out now-"

Before Tord could finish, Tom was able to free his arm and quickly pushed himself off the floor. Not hesitating to go for Tord. Tord reacted fast, avoiding Tom and planting his foot on his back as he barreled past. With Tom back on the floor, Tord laughed with more spite than humor.

“What's the matter? I think this the first time you've kept your loudmouth shut around me.”

Tom growled at him. “I am  _done_ talking to you."

“Is that so.” Tord sent an uppercut right into his jaw, ensuring that Tom would be true to his word. He grabbed the collar of Tom’s hoodie and slammed him into the ground, standing tall above him so his next words would have more power.

“Then you’ll be more than willing to listen, won't you.” He spat. “ _I_ am done with letting you do as you please. You get in my way and your selfish, shitty attitude drags down everyone around you. I am not interested in helping you in the slightest, I’d leave you to rot in your mistakes if I could. But you have something of value to me, and it helps both of us if I find out how to control your condition. So I’m making you an offer. You can learn how to manage yourself in a controlled environment. I’ll work with you every time to figure out how this monster thing works and how to turn it into an advantage. You will be able to go back to life as usual and stop using the drug as an excuse to be a total asshole.”

 

* * *

 

For once Tord sounded like he was being completely honest. It was very uncomfortable to witness. The idea of Tord getting his way was making Tom feel sick, but what he was saying made sense. Tom was pretty okay living like this, it wasn't really hard, hell he didn't even realise something unnatural was going on till Tord threw the fact in his face. But now he knew why his love of alcohol became a need. Why he lost track of time that could have been spent doing something productive like watching TV or messing around with Susan. All these faults that he had blamed on poor health and accepted were suddenly very fixable. He wanted to fix them. This curse was hard work and he missed being able to waste his life his way. But still, Tord had just beat the shit out of him. Tom didn't want to consider it, but the look on the other man’s face said he had to choose now.

Tom spat a bit as he forced his abused jaw to work. If this was going to happen, it was going to happen his way. “And I’ll choose when and how?” He couldn't believe he was considering this, but it wasn't like people were lining up to fix his problems for him. He was going to use Tord to get rid of his issues and then get him to fuck off. After all, Tord was good at running away from his responsibilities, Tom just had to make him take the first steps.

Tord seemed to consider it before nodding. “You can come and go however it suits you.”

Tom shifted his weight so he was laying on the floor more comfortably. This situation was a mess, but he the chance to steer the sinking ship and he had to take it. He locked eyes with Tord. “You’re a fucking psycho. But my issues with you are clearly not as big as your current ones with me.” There was a pregnant pause as he pulled himself off the floor. Then he nodded. "We do this my way.” It wasn't a request.

Tord rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't expect any less from you."

 

* * *

 

Much later that day, once Tord and Tom had been patched up, they stood across from each other in the hall. Tord was occupied with a lot of different emotions and dilemmas but strongly relieved to see things had settled. Tom had always searched for the simplest conclusion in life and his lax attitude was handing Tord a major victory. It had taken a matter of days, and some self-sacrifice but it was a victory. And that was enough to make Tord grin. He clapped his hands together, marking the end of the week’s struggle. And informed Tom “We can return to the house risk-free, Edd and Matt have waited long enough.”

Tom blanched at the statement, looking utterly appalled. _“We?_ You seriously think you're moving back in after all this crap? Once Edd and Matt know what you have been up too while you've been gone there's no way they'll let you stay. And I am not giving up my room for some son of-”

“Tom.” Tord’s focus was set in stone on his features. “I've already made a place for myself in their lives again. You can't change that, and they won't want to. I can set up my lab as an extra room, there's plenty of space and I can keep you in check from there.”

The norwegian's sharp demeanor made Tom consider him skeptically for a millisecond, before shaking off his comments. “No way in-”

“Do you want to kill your only friends?” And there it was, the ice that made Tom’s thoughts go quiet. “Cause that's what will happen if you don't listen to me. Maybe not in a months time, maybe not in a year, but eventually you will slip up. You can let the tension and pressure of the transformation build up without my help, or you can learn to control it and use it. You’ve already agreed to let me help, things will go a lot faster if that help isn't limited to time at this base.”

The silence spread from Tom’s head to the room. Tom’s chest rose and fell with a feeling of pressure, in fact, all he could feel was a not-quite-there pressure. Like his body was tightly packed in cotton. He couldn't believe he was going to let this happen. Then Tord slapped his back, “You better call Edd.” and begun to walk away.

As if on cue, a phone began to ring elsewhere down the halls. And for the first time, this isolated base felt truly like the statement implies. In the newly stagnant air, he was hyper-aware of the fact that he was miles under the earth, beneath the streets of London. _This was real._ He groaned. _God Edd better have enough Smirnoff in the fridge._


End file.
